Forever and For Always
by merduff
Summary: Some love is unconditional. A young Wilson story.


**Author's Notes:** A birthday fic for **topazeyes**, inspired by her children's story challenge. (The story is Robert Munsch's _Love You Forever_).

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* * *

"I love you," Wilson's mother tells him every time they say goodbye, hugging him tightly to her, as if it might be the last time they see each other. Since Michael left, her hugs have become fiercer, even as she grows frailer._

"You'll always be my baby," she says, and he laughs and wrinkles his nose and kisses the top of her head.

"Peter's the baby," he reminds her. He hated being called a baby, even when he was one.

"You're all my babies," she replies. "No matter how big you get or where you are."

Wilson holds on to her a little longer and wishes he could always feel this safe.

* * *

James is three, not quite four, and there are new people across the street with a little boy his age. Nobody in the neighbourhood is his age. Michael has lots of friends, but they always say he's too little to play with them. Even his mother says he's too little to play with them. And the baby is too little to play with him.

James has lots of toys and lots of books, but he wishes he had a friend.

He watches them unload the big truck and sees a boy watching from the other side of the street. He has light brown hair, and James just knows he has freckles. James wishes he had freckles. He tried to draw some on his face, but his mother caught him and took all the felt pens away for a day.

His mother says he can go over and say hello to the boy when the big truck is gone, but there are lots of things in there and it's taking forever to get them all out. He watches and watches, but they're still not finished when his mother calls him in for supper. And then it's time for a bath and stories and bed, and he's missed a whole day.

The next morning, his mother makes banana bread for the new people, and tells James he can take it over with her. He puts on his best sweater and washes his hands extra carefully, because he wants to make a good impression, even though he's not sure what that means. He hopes it means the boy will like him.

He holds his mother's hand while they cross the street, turning his head from side to side to make sure there are no cars coming. His mother is pushing the stroller with her other hand, and the banana bread is tucked inside next to Peter, because she only has two hands. James wishes _he_ could sleep next to banana bread. It's his favourite food in the whole world.

When they get to the house, James lets go of his mother's hand. "Can you reach the doorbell?" she asks, smiling down at him.

He stretches up as high as he can and plants a finger on the button, bumping back against his mother and burying his face in her coat when there's a loud buzz. The door opens and he hears a woman's voice. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Helen Wilson from across the street. Welcome to the neighbourhood. I hope you like banana bread."

"I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Jane Brodie. And who is this handsome young man?"

James looks up when he realizes she's talking about him. The woman has red hair and green eyes and she smiles just like his mother.

"This is James," his mother says. "He'll be four at the end of February."

"I know someone who wants to meet you," the woman says.

His eyes widen. "Me?" he whispers. No one ever wants to meet him. They all want to see the baby.

"Exactly you," she says. "My son Ian turned four last month. He was so excited when he saw you yesterday. He's been hoping there would be someone his age in the neighbourhood." She turns back into the house. "Ian! Come and meet the neighbours."

James hears feet pound down the stairs and then the boy from yesterday is standing in the doorway. He has green eyes like his mother and freckles, just like James thought. He can't stop staring at him.

"Ian, this is James," the boy's mother says.

The boy grins. "Do you want to play with me?"

James can't think of anything he wants to do more. He looks up at his mother, who laughs. "I think that's a yes," she says.

"If you're going outside, put on your jacket," Ian's mother says. "It feels like snow."

Ian scrunches up his face in protest, but scampers off. James is so excited he can't stand still. He shifts from foot to foot and hopes his mother won't ask if he needs to go to the bathroom. When Ian returns, they run outside to explore the yard.

James has never been to this house before. The last people who lived here were old and didn't like kids. There's a gate that leads to the backyard, but neither of them can reach the latch, even when James tries to boost Ian up.

"We can look there later," Ian decides. "There's a lawn and a hill that leads down to a fence and on the other side of the fence is a stream. And there's a big tree where my dad says he can make me a treehouse. I have to share it with my sister though."

"I have to share everything with my brothers," James says. "But my big brother doesn't like to share with me."

"My sister only has dolls. They're stupid. I can ride a bike," Ian boasts. "Can you?"

James has a tricycle, and a Big Wheel that he can ride up and down the driveway, but his father says he's too little to ride a bicycle. But Ian is only a little bigger than him. He's watched Michael ride his bike, and he knows he can do it if he tries. "Sure, I can," he says confidently.

"Go get your bike," Ian says. "We can ride around the driveway." The driveway is in a circle with a garden in the middle, not just up and down like James's.

James frowns. Michael is out riding his bike, and even if he wasn't, the seat is too high and Ian would know it isn't his. "It's broken," he lies. Maybe by the time Ian asks again, he really will have his own bike.

"That's okay," Ian says. "I can ride my sister's bike and you can ride mine."

James is pretty sure his father will be angry if he says yes, but his father isn't here, and Ian is smiling at him, and he doesn't want to disappoint his new friend. "Sure," he says. "It'll be fun."

The bike is smaller than Michael's, but it's bigger than his tricycle, and he's not sure how to get on. He copies everything that Ian does carefully, swinging his right leg awkwardly over the bar. He straddles the bike, both feet on the ground, and watches as Ian rides around and around.

"Come on!" Ian shouts. "I bet you can't catch me."

James can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He's starting to think that maybe this isn't a good idea, but he doesn't know what else to do. He puts his right foot on the pedal, gripping the handle bars so hard the ridged plastic cuts into his palms, and stretches on his tiptoes until he can sit on the seat. Ian passes him again, laughing, and he pushes off with his left foot and down on the pedal with his right foot, and he's moving and it's easy, until the front wheel wobbles and he loses his balance and falls into the garden.

He stands up and brushes the dirt off his pants. Ian is still laughing, but now James knows he's laughing at him. James hates being laughed at. He stands the bike up and straddles it again. This time, he pedals nearly ten feet before he has to turn, and he loses his balance again. He falls on the driveway, scraping his palms and banging his knee. It hurts and when he looks at his hands and sees blood welling through the dirt, his lip trembles.

Ian stops beside him. "I thought you said you knew how to ride," he says scornfully.

"I know how to ride _my_ bike," James retorts, scrubbing at his face before he starts to cry. Only babies cry and he's not a baby. "Not yours." He's sure that if he had his own bike it would be much easier.

"Well, you can't ride my bike any more. You'll break it too." Ian gets off his sister's bike and picks up his bike and pushes it back to the garage.

James looks at his hands again, and this time he does cry. Now Ian is going to think he's a baby who can't ride a bike.

He's not supposed to cross the street by himself, but he doesn't want to be here any more. He looks carefully in both directions and when he's sure there are no cars coming, he runs as fast as he can, and keeps running until he reaches the front door of his house. The door is locked, so he sits on the doorstep and waits for his mother to come home.

His mother doesn't come, though, because _she_ has a new friend who likes her. James doesn't have anybody. He curls into a ball and sobs.

"Jimmy, sweetheart, what happened?"

He looks up and sees his mother standing in front of him. He already feels better. "I fell twice and I hurt my hands, and Ian thinks I'm a baby, and I can't ride his bike anymore." He thinks maybe he shouldn't have said that last part.

"Were you riding Ian's bike, James?"

James knows the right answer to that question, but his mother doesn't like it when he lies. He nods and starts to cry again.

"Do you know why you shouldn't have ridden Ian's bike, James?" his mother asks.

His mother doesn't sound mad, so he swallows and hiccups and nods again. "Because Daddy says I'm too little. But Ian can ride a bike. If I can't ride a bike, he won't want to be friends with me."

His mother sighs and sits down next to him on the step. "That's not true, sweetheart. You're going to have lots of friends in your life, and sometimes you won't be able to do things that they can do, and sometimes they won't be able to do things that _you_ can do. But that doesn't mean you can't have fun together doing other things."

But James can't think of anything else he could do with Ian. "I'm never going to have any friends," he whispers. "I'm never going to have anybody."

His mother lifts him into her lap, and he's too big to cuddle, but it's okay just this once. She picks up his hands and kisses each palm until they don't hurt nearly as badly. "You'll always have me," she tells him. "No matter how big you are, no matter where you are, I'll love you for always."

She tickles his stomach and he giggles. His mother always knows where to find the tickly spots. "If it snows tonight," she says, "you can invite Ian over to build a snowman in the yard. I know you can do that."

James closes his eyes and imagines the best snowman in the world. When he opens them again, the first flakes of snow are already falling.


End file.
